Damascus flight
by Dunedain789
Summary: An unnamed hashishiyya from Masyaf gets chased through the streets of Damascus after being recognized by a vengeful captain of the guard.


**The desciptions for this story were inspired by the novel 'The Lion of Cairo' by Scott Oden. This is my first fanfiction based on Assassins Creed. It was written 2 years ago and I have only just plucked up the courage and desire to post it. If you could review I would appreciate the feed back as I am ****_ALWAYS_**** trying to improve my writing.**

**I hope you enjoy.**

The scorching sun leered down on the city of Damascus, heat rising from the dusty stone slab streets, carrying with it the smell of delicious spices and freshly made bread. The gentle murmur of voices echoed through the streets. Buildings were shielded from the afternoon heat by the towering shadow of a large white mosque, a metal spire with a crescent moon rising from it's dome shaped roof. It was Friday, and afternoon prayers were about to begin. Crowds filed into the mosque, some shuffling into the compact shaded interior, others spreading silk rugs onto the stone steps just outside.

After a while, the indistinct chatter of those gathered ceased, eyes focused with rapturous attention on a lone man that stalked up to the front to begin the prayers.

Then in perfect synchronization, they all bowed in unison, lowering their foreheads to the cool stone floor as the Imam began the prayers…

* * *

A man took ragged breaths as he sprinted, brown, sun cracked leather boots pounding the street. He took a sharp left, wrenching his body into a cramped smoky alleyway, taking off into the gloom in an attempt to loose his quarry. He didn't pause to get his bearings, leaping onto stacked crates of fruit and then launching himself onto a thick wooden pole that stretched across the alley.

Scrambling to get on the beam, the sounds of following footsteps and curses reverberating around the lonely alley.

"FIND HIM!" growled a man, his deep gravely voice laced with authority.

As quiet and lithe as cat, the young man on the wooden beam crept over to the roof of the building, keeping his balance with slightly outstretched arms. Sweat mingled with drying blood on his white robes, his face shadowed beneath a deep hood.

He quickly reached the rooftop, boots muffled by thick layer of sand and dust swept in from the desert by the wind.

"THERE! I SEE HIM!"

He spun around, muttering a curse as he spotted an archer on the roof of a nearby building, leveling an arrow at him.

He sped away, a fresh round of adrenalin pounding through his veins as he leapt from rooftop to rooftop, the wind whipping around him, red sash billowing out from behind him.

His adrenalin-fueled elation quickly turned to stone cold fear as he realized he was running out of rooftop. At the end of his chosen route, a river of clear, crisp water burbled through man-made canals that wound through the city like snakes. He quickly assessed his surroundings, searching for a different path to escape the soldiers who were following closely behind. Another arrow whizzed past his head, archers lining the flat rooftops taking careful aim.

Icy tendrils of panic began to worm their way around his chest and throat, each breath coming as a strangled gasp at the realization he was running out of options.

He slowed down, stopping at the edge of the rooftops, turning to face his pursuers. Intelligent brown eyes gleamed as he took up a fighting stance drawing a gleaming, oiled knife from the leather sheathe strapped to his back.

The leader of the group of soldiers gave a harsh bark of triumphant laughter around pants for humid, hot air that shimmered off the stone roofs.

"The road ends here hashishiyya!" yelled the soldier in between pants. "Put down your knife and I promise you, you will have swift death. Resist and I will make you endure in agony and strip you of the little dignity you have."

The young hashishiyya gave one final glance around, hoping beyond hope that maybe there would be an escape.

The rooftop he was on was far too high to jump off. He'd be sure to break his legs if he leapt.

Archers lined the rooftops, arrows trained on the boy as if daring him to move. The babbling river swirled not five meters from the edge of the buildings. He might be able to jump in the river and make it to the bank before his strength sapped and he drowned…

A breeze of cool air filtered through his white hood, sweat turning to gel. He took a deep breath, turning his fear into solid resolve.

"Make your choice hashishiyya!" yelled the captain again, growing impatient.

The young man gave the soldier a cocky smirk, before whipping around and leaping from the rooftops.

How far can your heart tumble in a split second?

Wind whipped under his hood, ripping it on his head, exposing short cropped black hair and tanned skin. He took a deep breath just before he plunged into water with a splash.

Seconds later, he emerged at the surface, gasping for breath, fighting against the heavy cloak that threatened to drag him down into the blackness of the riverbed, arms thrashing in a panicked windmill, fingers reaching for the solid land he was sure was close.

Coughing a spluttering, he reached an outcropping dock, fingers scrabbling for purchase on the eroded wood. Hauling himself out of the water and onto the dock, he turned to glance at the rooftop he had just leapt from.

The captain's lip curled into a snarl, watching helplessly from the rooftop as the young hashishiyya slipped through his grasp once again. The soldier had always been a problem to the assassins after a rogue hashishiyya from Alamut had raped and murdered his wife. The rogue had been captured by the creed of Masyaf, and brought back to the city to be executed. Since then, Masyaf and Alamut's relations had been balanced on a knife's edge.

Of course the soldier didn't know this. As far as he was concerned, the hashishiyya were all the same; whether from Masyaf or Alamut, all must die. It was his duty as a soldier to protect Damascus and her interests. But it was also personal. It was a life long revenge mission. One the young assassin understood all too well.

The white robes the young hashishiyya wore were too heavy to run in. If he kept them on he'd be caught for sure. Without hesitation, he unstrapped the cloak, throwing the wet garment into the river. He began running up the wooden steps to the stone pavement above, strapping his only weapon, the knife, onto his back, as he ran. He didn't spare a backwards glance at the captain, knowing that by the time he had managed to get to the main gate to cut off the young man, the hashishiyya would be long gone.

He made his way towards the main gates of the city, blending in with the crowds of farmers and merchants filing in and out of the city. The hashishiyya feigned interest in a stand filled with lumps of burnt meat to avoid suspicion of a patrolling group of guards. It was difficult to distinguish the animal under the thick layer of charcoal.

Blending with a large group of shoppers, he filed of out the gate, through the four guards blocking the enterance. He was suddenly glad for the loss of his robes. Usually he had to wait for a group of passing scholars to make it through the gate unnoticed.

He walked purposefully towards the white horse, tethered to a wooden shelter to the east of the main gate. As he approached, horse flicked it ears in his direction in recognition, unwilling to abandon the damp hay and water it was happily chewing on . He smiled, patting her side reassuringly before untying the rope that kept her tethered, leading her away slowly, taking care to slide a light silk scarf off a haggling-merchant's stall and pocket it. With a small sigh of relief he mounted the horse and nudged her into a slow walk alongside the busy people traveling to and from the city, bustling like a colony of ants. Wrapping his head in the stolen silk shawl he finally kicked the mare into a fast gallop, relishing in the freedom, rushing air and added speed of his return to Masyaf unhindered by heavy robes.


End file.
